


Clashing Pearls

by Victorthyreas



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, jaskier dies for about three minutes nbd, there is art for this one, unbetaed obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorthyreas/pseuds/Victorthyreas
Summary: Jaskier, a blacksmith living on the Skellige islands, is a very stupid man. So stupid, he sails alone to an uninhabited island in search of pearls.However, no island is fully deserted in Skellige.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

The sunlight has been shy for three days now, walls of waves crumbling on the rocks, shaping them into an everchanging image. He sat and waited for the biggest wave to crush, hoping the foam will rise so high it will replase the darkest clouds with something less threatening. However, the grey sea looked more than a deadly trap than the ever so dark skies above him that looked ready to swallow him whole. Who would have thought that chaos would be so calming to look at. But there is always order in chaos, like a tune played with a lute - such was the music of the sea, chaotic until you put the pieces together.

It was time to go back inside, Jaskier thought, as the first raindrops that had already found their way down his temple, suggested, but how could he turn his back from this view? He would miss it the moment he would step away from it. The raging sea during rainfall was his favourite sight. Powerfull and fierce as it was, its beauty raw, waves hissing and roaring as if they were at war with the sand - obviously and always winning. Jaskier stood up right when a huge wave crushed at his feet, licking the edges of the rock he was sitting on for the past four hours. He looked with wide eyes, as the foam rised up to his calves. He was soaked through the bones but at least, he hadn't forgotten to roll his trousers up before completely offering himself to the sea he always loved. _Ah, yes, always the canny one._

Jaskier took a deep breath, filling his lungs with salty air before he made his way down the slippery path that led him away from the troop of sharp rocks, emerging threateningly from the surface like soldiers in battle. He made sure his tiny boat, that was safely tucked away in a nook between (even more) rocks, belly facing the sky, was intact by last night's storm. Thankfully, the waves hadn't reached the boat's hiding place. _Good._ Time to get back inside. Where that "inside" would be? Well, it was yet another abandoned hut near the end of the cliff on the uninhabited small island that was hosting the young blacksmith. Shuttered window glass, collapsed wooden floors, ripped and eaten by the harshness of the island's weather, moss were covering the rooftop but there was a fireplace. That's all Jaskier needed to spend a few nights there and collect as many pearls as he could find or better, as many as the sea could gift him.

 _Pearls._ That was the reason why Jaskier had left the warmth of his house back in Holmstein, the fur bed, the heat of his workshop, the soothing sound of metals clashing together, the sweaty palms, the hissing of the steam, the sounds of the lute chords. Yes, _lute chords,_ because Jaskier was one of the lucky residents of Skellige to have came across a real treasure as a young boy - an old elven lute hidden in the belly of a shipwreck, untouched by the sea's wrath and his fingers were glued on the chords ever since. Many would say that music and blacksmithing can't be mixed together and Jaskier would reply that one can make beauty by dipping heated steel into cold water. Two opposites yet together they can make wonders (as he used to call his creations, with excessive modesty). The only problem was that he himself couldn't decide if he was a poet with blacksmithing tendencies or a blacksmith with a head constantly beyond the clouds.

One thing he could easily decide - without second thoughts - was that he had to make a sword as beautiful as the depths of the ocean and the best way to achieve that level of beauty was to use the sea's most wanted and precious treasure. His plan was to interweave the pearls with golden stems and bind the pommel of the sword - his new sword with a silver blade. It was a good plan and so the pearl hunting on this not-so-friendly island was definitely worth it. Oh, he could see it. The silver blinding his foes to their demise long before the polished, mirroring blade reach their stinky, filthy flesh.

The daylight has long been gone when Jaskier opened the door of the hut. The creaking sound was almost eliminated by the sound of the waves, roaring furiously, causing the remaining glass on the windows to chatter like a warning sign. Jaskier threw a few dry logs in the fireplace and lit a fire, his only companion for the night. The young flames kissed the wood greedily and they grew higher, feeding off the peeled bark of the logs. They danced and danced and Jaskier felt safe enough to take his soaked shirt off to let it dry. And that's how he would stay for the rest of the night, bare shoulders covered by loose hair as the ponytail that was keeping them in place had long came undone by the wind and now stray locks were sticking on his neck, fire dancing like demons in his eyes, forcing the ever blue of his irises to clash with the fiery gold. He stayed like this until his eyes began to itch with sleep _(and salt mostly)_ , until the sun was out.

 _"Another night without proper sleep_ " he said to noone " _well, nothing new, except that Nana would be furious when she finds out_ " he threw another log in the fire " _if she finds out_ ". The wind hummed softly in silent agreement.

The new day had started brighter than the last one. The sun was shining through the few remaining clouds - what was left of last night's storm. It was shining through the cracks of the wooden planks that were holding the old hut together against every oddity of the island's weather. It was shining through his ribcage, reaching the very core of his heart, warm as it was, and now even warmer. He put his forgotten shirt on, always tight around his shoulders, never bothered to button it all the way up, leaving the most of his chest exposed to the elements. Cold, however, was never an issue for the young blacksmith who had spent most of his life forging fire. He gathered the few items he had brought with him - along with a sword, a dagger, more daggers, smaller, bigger, a, _oh, what's that? ah, even more daggers and a loaf of Nana's infamous bread!_ \- and headed to the place where the little boat was waiting patiently all these days. A small pouch was hanging from his neck, filled with the most valuable gift the sea could offer - the pearls. He shook the pouch near his ear, the dingling sound of the pearls inside painted a smile on his face.

Once the boat was dragged in the water and every last of the dagger army was thrown in, he gingerly jumped in and took the helm. The sea had grew calmer - the way home should be an easy task.

_Or so he thought._

He had only managed to sail a bit further away from the safety of the rocky beach when a small wave rocked the boat, followed by another and another and another. Something emerged from the water, a silhuette dark as the very depths. The first thing he heard was the sound of wings flapping above his head, spreading salty drops around in a swirling motion, right behind him. Then the shriek. He turned but the attack was swift and loud. A wave of panic rised inside his chest, overflowing, drowning him before he even met his fall in the water. His mind started to gather the pieces together, fully awaken by the cold water that had already started to fill his lungs. The rapid change of temperature did little to help his senses to stay focused. The wings, the attack, the shrieking, the flapping. _It must have been a siren._ Knife! _No, a knife would't work._ Sword, then! _Fuck! It was still in the boat, out of reach._ No chance he would swim there before the second attack of the siren. Defenseless as he was and now sinking _(Oh, isn't that just lovely)_ he had to count on a bit of good luck and take the risk. He swam to the surface with every bit of strength that had remained before the wave of adrenaline wiped away even the last drop of his energy. While swimming, he noticed something was out of place. His left shoulder, to be more precise. It was apparently bleeding from more than one place. _Claws? Teeth?_ Who knows, and it was definitely not the right time to figure that out. And of course, that was when the beast decided to launch her second attack and with a defeaning splash, her tail wiggling furiously, she dove in the water. Jaskier felt a shooting pain on the nape of his neck. _Yup, those were definitely teeth, no doubt about that._ Blood blurred his vision as water turned crimson and the beast's shrieking grew louder in his ear as she was dragging him deeper. The weight of the ocean crushing his ribs, squeezing his form tightly and he prayed while the last puffs of air were leaving his lungs, to anyone who would listen that this would end soon.

Light dimmed around him like the dying flame in the lantern - an unexpected comfort - until light was no more.

***


	2. Chapter 2

The Witcher unsheathed his silver sword in a swift and trained motion and threw himself in the water, swimming towards the spot where the siren had ambushed the man and his tiny (therefore useless - what was this man even thinking?) boat. As he swam closer he noticed how the surface was painted red. Not good. He was running out of time. Without a warning, a slimey tail rose from the water, swaying at every direction violently. The Witcher dodged and sliced and missed and dodged again but the beast had the upper hand, massive as she was and he felt her body entwining with his in a deadly embrace. But the Witcher wasn't having any of that. Especially not when there was someone he could help. With a calculated movement, he sliced the beast's skin from chest to tail, in a clean line, watching while the creature cried an anguished wail. The siren's last song. Having no time to lose, he took a long breath and dove in the water. He wished he had the ability to stop time, only for a few moments, it should be enough.

  
It wasn't hard for his enhanced senses to spot the man's limp shape laying on the dark rocky sea floor. The blood around the body cleared when the Witcher approached and grabbed him around the waist with one arm, while the other was still holding the blade tight. The Witcher pushed himself and the extra weight towards the surface with a strong shove of his legs. He then swam to the shore, cautiously grasping the younger man, mindful of his injuries. When reached shallow waters, the Witcher dragged the unconscious man ashore and gently passed a hand behind his head to lay him on the sand as carefully as he could. The man's face whitening and freezing, no fluttering eyelids, no pulse could be heard. _Fuck. Was he too late?_ Frowning and cursing behind his teeth, he threw the sword aside and placed the inside of his right hand on the man's chest bone, covering it with his other hand and pushed down hard forcing the man's heart to pump. 

  
The sea reached their feet, one time, "Breathe, dammit", he pressed down hard.  
The sea reached their feet, two times, "Fucking breathe!" and pressed again harder.  
The sea reached their feet, three times, "Come on, now!" he pressed once more and tilted the man's head back to breathe air into his mouth. Again, 

  
_Again,_

  
_Again,_

  
_Again._

He pressed down his chest once more _"I swear to..- If you fucking die on me.."_ he growled and stepped back when the man's body began to shake violently in a coughing fit and sputtering. The Witcher quickly turned him to his side until every last drop of the seawater the man had swallowed was out of his lungs.   
_"It's okay,"_ he tried to sound as more convincing as he could _"You're okay, I got you, see? You're safe now"_ he let out a long breath and looked at the now shivering man in front of him   
_"It's okay"_ he repeated silently, to himself. 

He sat beside the man, knees up, arms placed on his knees, hands hanging in the air. He watched as the man's chest rose with each breath he took and felt suddenly exhausted. _Fuck,_ he could kill for a glass of Cintrian wine or even a pint of cheap ale. A shuffling noise beside him brought him back to Skellige. He peered down the man and for the first time that day he actually took a good look at him. His shirt was painted red with blood, ripped across his chest and left shoulder, leaving the sunkissed skin there exposed. As exposed as the man's skin could possibly be due to the thick layer of hair that was covering it. A pouch was hanging around his neck. A neck almost fully hidden by wet locks. His face was also covered by a dark beard. _This man was covered in hair, so much fucking hair._ His left shoulder was still bleeding and strands of curly hair were stuck on the wound, hardened. The witcher leaned down and pulled one strand and the man's lips twitched in pain as he grunted, eyes still shut. Of course, now was the time for the Witcher to notice how long the man's lashes were.

  
" _Shh now.. Can't leave it like this, must be cleaned"_ and he pulled another strand. The young man bit his lip in protest. Of course, now was the time for the Witcher to notice how pink the man's lips were, now that color had returned to his face.

_"Can you talk?"_ the Witcher asked in a cheery tone. Another grunt. _"Now, that's not what I asked"_ he mocked and pulled a third strand off the wound. The man opened his eyes, clearly annoyed by the rude stranger who had the nerve to play around, and tried to grasp the Witcher's hand, failing miserably. He regretted the sudden movement immediately. 

  
_"Hurts..Fuck"_ he muttered and shut his eyes tight again. 

  
_"Oh, so you can talk"_ the Witcher pointed out cheerfully _"Wasn't that hard, now, was it?"_

  
_"The Siren?"_ asked the man who was slowly coming back to his senses as he seemed to deliberately ignore the other man's sarcastic remarks.

  
_"Dead. Now, stay still, i need to bandage your shoulder"_. And that was one broad shoulder, he would need more than ripped rags to bandage it. He suddenly realized that his manners were locked away in a chest somewhere in the bottom of the ocean and tried to make amends for it.  
 _"Your name?"_ he asked softly.

  
"Hm?" the younger man raised his eyes and _oh, well, fuck, they're **blue** !!!_

  
_"I asked for your name. I bet you have one_ " the Witcher smiled, helping the man to sit properly on the soft sand.

  
_"Ah, yes, a very nice one"_ he replied looking down at his destroyed shirt _"Shit"_ he scratched his beard _"that was a good shirt"_ he sighed and slowly took the hanging pouch in his hands, stroking the leather. He then, looked up at the Witcher and, as if he just had noticed, his eyes grew wide _"Fuck, you're a Witcher! And you saved my life"_ he exclaimed and twitched in pain the next second.

  
" _And I asked for your name"_ the Witcher spoke calmly and shook his head in great disapproval _"Oh, for fuck's sake, will you just stay still!"_

  
_"Jaskier!"_ beamed Jaskier, grabbing the Witcher's hand and shook it in a firm (surprisingly firm, considering it was his injured arm) handshake. " _And you are._.." _(apart from "drop-dead gorgeous")_ he tilted his head waiting for the Witcher's answer, trying to ignore the little voice in his head. 

  
_Fuck, his hair is made of pure starlight!_

_"Geralt of Rivia, and please, stop moving, you're only making matters worse_ " he couldn't help but laugh at how stubborn the man, well, Jaskier, was and at how he was now gaping like a fish.

  
" _Wait, The Geralt of Rivia? That one Witcher who killed the Giant of the Golden Caves here in Skellige, decades ago?" That Geralt of Rivia?"_ Jaskier had completely forgotten that he was at the doorstep of the World of the Dead, only a few minutes ago. Now only excitement and the promise of new adventures were overflowing his ever-racing mind.  
Geralt felt warmth rising up his throat and cheeks. This man was clearly clueless. He had barely escaped death and yet, he was bouncing with joy - with a gaping wound on his shoulder and apparently at the back of his neck. Geralt stood up and circled the man, kneeling behind him. Jaskier, now visibly alarmed, tried to follow Geralt's movements with his eyes but soon realized that this was not as easy as his mind told him it would be. Still pinned to the ground by exhaustion, he decided it was best to trust the Witcher.  
After all, he did save his life. 

  
He shivered as he felt cold fingertips tracing the nape of his neck. He let out a shaky sigh but immediately regretted it as the Witcher behind him shifted uncomfortably.   
_"She got you really bad, didn't she?_ " asked Geralt and Jaskier felt the warm puffs of his breath on his bare shoulder. 

  
_"No, she did not"_ he protested sleepily and bit his lip in pain hissing. Damn, the Witcher's magnificent baritone voice was clearly a trap.  
  
" _Hmm, of course not"_ the Witcher tucked Jaskier's hair away from his nape and began examining the claw marks closely. Luckily, it wasn't a very deep cut, the blood there had already dried and the wound was healing already. It was Jaskier's shoulder what was worrying the Witcher more. He released Jaskier's hair, noticing in wonderment, how the waves bounced soflty on his back and he moved to face the man who apparently had fallen asleep. 

"Huh! Well, now that's interesting." He gently scooped Jaskier into his arms, as if he weighed nothing, and carried him away from the beach, up the cliff and into the deserted hut, the same hut where Jaskier had been staying for the last few days and nights.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're idiots. That's it, that's the chapter.

  
The sun was diving into the sea already when the Witcher reached the hut with Jaskier in his arms, sleeping soundly. The inside was dark, a few strings of pale light coming from outside, were hanging on the wooden walls. It was so chilly he could see his own breath freezing in the air- and it was dark, but for that, Geralt was grateful. Light was never a Witcher's friend. He couldn't ward off the prying eyes in bright places, or go through villages and towns unnoticed. He couldn't hide the scars painting his face, causing everyone to scream threats and warnings at his direction. Besides, the best contracts could be found in the murkiest of places. Light had never been kind to him.

  
Geralt looked around for a bed or even a hay matress, anything soft enough to lay Jaskier down so he could clean and stich up his cuts. Well, there was nothing, the hut was empty. _Brilliant!_ A single rope was lying on the floor next to a piece of paper with something that looked like a unfinished poem written on it, a used candle - and that was all. The tiny place was probably used by fishermen who visit the island and look for a cover for when the weather gets too bad. At least there was a fireplace - no wood to burn, but that could be easily fixed. He gently laid down the young man near the fireplace and froze in place when Jaskier shifted feebly and grabbed Geralt's arm moaning. 

  
"I'm sorry" he apologized and placed his hand on top of Jaskier's, he nearly jumped in surprise by how cold the man's hands were.  
"Shit, you're freezing" he whispered and took both of Jaskier's hands into his, rubbing them together.   
  
"Mmhm, this feels good" said Jaskier without daring opening his eyes, in fear that this wonderful dream would vanish. "Hey, no, don't stop now"   
  
"I must go out and bring some wood for the fire" Geralt said soflty "can't do this all night to keep you from freezing, I'm afraid" he laughed and stood up but a hand stopped him. He turned to look into a pair of big blue eyes, pleading, almost begging.   
  
"Why not?" asked Jaskier quietly "Why not staying?" he was now sitting with the back against the wall, his hand still on Geralt's arm, unmoving, tight. "Why not doing this all night?" his voice was low and warm and Geralt realized he couldn't refuse this man anything when he looked at him like this - when he was begging him to stay. He felt powerless.  
  
_That was wrong._  
  
"Ehh, fire" he said without taking his gaze away from Jaskier's eyes "the cold" he blinked once, twice "for the wood"  
  
"You don't make sense, do you know that?" Jaskier said slowly and it was barely a whisper, Geralt would have missed it if his senses were not enhanced by the mutations (in rare times like these, he would thank the Gods for his mutated blood) and if Jaskier's face wasn't so fucking close to his, he could feel his breath on his lips. Dammit, he was now staring at those lips.  
"Fuck" he jerked up and left the hut leaving a very baffled Jaskier behind.

The night was cloudless and the sea whisperless. Stars were gazing down on him, shivering in the night chill of autumn. Breeze blew coldly between his silver hair and he welcomed it gladly, almost greedily. Geralt closed his eyes and listened - the sea of grass beneath his feet, the sea foam rippling on the sand, waves softly crashing against the rocks - tide was coming. A heartbeat met his ears, close, very close. He knew this heartbeat, he was the reason why this heart was making any sound - why those eyes were pleading for him to stay. It was wrong, so very wrong but it felt so right. A wave crashing on the rocks startled him. He followed the sound of the heartbeat, back in the hut - he knew it was right, it should be right.  
  
"You're back!" jaskier's voice filled the tiny room and it echoed through Geralt's ears, wandering inside his mind, somewhere between the flapping of the waves. "I thought you left me, actually. You see, the plan was to get my ass up and find you but, alas, I couldn't go far" Jaskier seemed paler than before and Geralt looked at the cut on his shoulder, now bleeding.  
  
"You moved!" the muscles of his nose twitched at the strong smell of copper. "Why?" he asked the younger man, frowning. He didn't know why but he felt angry at himself for leaving. He was a Witcher, he shouldn't care - he did, however, and it was wrong, he knew.

"Well, of course I moved, did you expect me to sit here and wait?"  
  
"And, you probably haven't noticed but your shoulder is bleeding again" the Witcher kneeled beside him "You should have stayed where I left you".  
  
"I should, but I didn't want to" - _he really didn't._  
  
"And you always do what you want?"  
  
"I don't see another option" - _there really wasn't._  
  
"Hmm" Geralt without a warning pulled a strand of hair that was unmercifully stuck on Jaskier's wound.   
  
The man hissed in pain "What the Fuck? Why?"  
  
"Oh, did that hurt you? I can only apologize" Geralt replied and pulled another strand off the cut.  
  
"Hey! Can you not?" Jaskier snapped "It fucking hurts"  
  
"It needs to be cleaned"   
  
"Well, do what you must but could you at least be more gentle?" Jaskier pursed his lips and took a deep breath. "I'm not a fucking animal!"  
  
Geralt almost smiled at that "Don't act like a child. Let's take this shirt off".  
  
"I would hardly call it a shirt anymore" Jaskier lifted his right arm and released it with ease from the shirt-turned-into-rags. Things were not so easy when the time came for the left arm to be freed.   
"Ow, fuck, shit" he hissed and cursed "Ow, why, oh, why, no, please!" and he was free - _and half naked.  
_  
It was Geralt's time to curse because well, _fuck,_ the man's shoulders were as broad as a highway and his chest strong and hairy. _So very hairy_. "You'll freeze to death"  
  
"Excellent news! Anything else you must say to set the mood?" Jaskier grinned and Geralt chuckled. _Oh, that was a sweet sound_ \- Jaskier thought. He would do anything to hear that sound again. He would let these eyes pour their honey on him, he would greedily lick every single drop, not one he would let go in waste. He didn't realized he was staring at the Witcher until Geralt poured alcohol on his wound.  
  
"Shit, ow fuck! What - where did that come from? Fucking hell!" he cried at the burning that was now crawling up to his neck and ears.   
  
"You weren't paying attention, I see. Now, stay still" Geralt said and carefully started binding up Jaskier's shoulder with a clean bandage, doing his best to swallow down the stubborn bubble that kept rising inside his throat every time his fingers touched bare skin. It was almost a torture. One he couldn't bring himself escape from.  
"This pouch you're carrying around your neck - what's in there?" he tried to occupy his mind with something - anything - else.  
  
"Oh, this?" said Jaskier and took the small pouch in his hand "this is why all of these happened" he gesture vaguely in the air and hissed when the wound itched. "Fucking hell!"  
  
Geralt looked at the pouch curiously. "Hmm"  
  
"Pearls - the finest you'll ever find. But I'm not supposed to tell you this, or you'll come after them" he said and hid the pouch somewhere inside his pants.  
  
The Witcher huffed and smiled "I'm not after your pearls"  
  
"And you? Were you carrying these medical supplies all the time? My, you Witchers are full of mysteries, I must admit I am impressed!" he rubbed his shoulder as soon as Geralt finished the binding work, and lied on his back, sighing heavily, shivering violently when his skin touched the damp floor. "You said I'll freeze to death so, I guess this is me saying my goodbyes" he closed his eyes, sighing again.  
  
"Yeah, we won't let that happen" Geralt tried to sound convincing and without giving it a second thought he took off his cloak. He hesitated for a moment but he eventually gave in and covered Jaskier's bare body with the heavy clothing. The younger man opened his eyes bewildered and looked down at the dark colored cloak. It smelled of onions - _he noticed right away_ \- but it was the warmest he had felt in a while.  
"I..Thank you, Geralt".  
  
Hearing his name coming from these lips made his heart leap inside his chest. _It was beggining to feel right._  
"Now, sleep and maybe try not to die tonight"  
  
"Ha - ha, you think you're very funny, don't you, Witcher?" his teeth chattered and he clutched the cloak around his shoulders tightly, as if his life was depending on it. _Well, truth be told, it was._ The warmth reached his heart and the very thought of being safe numbed the pain. Safe - a bizarre thing to feel, really, especially when a very gruff Witcher were making dubious comments about his wellbeing. He found himself trusting the man, however, enough to let his guard down around him and relax.  
"Will you not get cold?" murmured Jaskier, already half asleep.  
  
"I'm a Witcher"   
  
"Mhmm, so?"  
  
"Witchers don't get cold"  
  
"Bullshit".  
  
A ghost of a smile crossed Geralt's lips as Jaskier started snoring softly - _at first._


End file.
